


Gently Ringing

by General_Button



Series: Martin/Douglas [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AU, Community: cabinpres_fic, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/pseuds/General_Button
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt: Everyone in the world has a series of small silver bells strapped to their wrist. Because the sounds of these bells are so beautiful, you’re only suppose to give them up to people you feel deserve them most. Martin was born with only one bell on his wrist. He doesn’t know if this was a sign of his bad luck, or if it just means there’s only one person who deserves this bell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gently Ringing

**Author's Note:**

> I think they wanted a bit of a destiny sort of fic, but I couldn't get this image out of my head.
> 
> Enjoy the fluff!

Martin plays with the bell attached to his wrist lightly, the pleasant sound ringing with familiarity. His fingers curl carefully around the sturdy red yarn that’s sat there since birth (no one’s thread has ever been heard to break off. He’s careful, anyway. It would happen to him, if anyone). He absolutely loves the bell. It sounds gorgeous; a soft tinkle of sound that seems to expand and dance with a gentleness that makes him shiver. It’s so bloody beautiful, and he’s never given it away. 

Not that he’d ever really thought he would. 

Martin was born with one bell. While most children had twenty or twelve, or at _least_ five, Martin had one. One single, beautiful bell. Sometimes he resents it a little—okay, maybe he does _a lot_ , but at least he has one. It’s special. _For_ someone special. 

He looks at the other bell on his left wrist. The sound is a bit lower and a bit louder, resonating with more conviction that Martin’s sweet sounding bell. He fingers the smooth, metallic surface, feeling his cheeks warming. Douglas gave him his bell after their sixth month anniversary. He has another bell left, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it. Martin finds Douglas’ eyes landing on the bell on his wrist far more often. It makes him happy, but nervous.

When Douglas gave him his bell, he reassured him he didn’t have to do the same.

_“I understand, Martin. Yours is important to you and it’s the only one you’ve got.”_

He’d kissed his fingertips and touched the bell lightly, carefully, like Martin might run away. He had been honestly shocked. He hadn’t- he’d never thought he’d give it away. It’d always been a part of him. He couldn’t imagine actually find someone worth giving it to, it had been so special. Then Douglas had kissed him softly, whispering the sweetest things in his ear whilst placing his own purple thread against his wrist. 

_“Douglas,”_ he choked out.

Martin closes his eyes softly at the memory. With Douglas’ bell on his wrist, the idea had been planted in his mind. Douglas is— Douglas is special. He's an incorrigible flirt even when he isn't trying, and he has a nasty way of getting under Martin's skin. He's also kind and generous, and didn't really treat Martin any different after they started dating—except to coerce him into acts of a sexual nature instead his usual I'm-being-lazy-Martin-would-you-be-a-dear-and-do-my-logbook? He's handsome and funny and his laugh just lights up Martin's day.

Three months after receiving his bell and now he’s sure. 

They’re at a familiar restaurant. Nothing too fancy, but not something for jeans and a jumper. Martin’s in the suit that Douglas forced him to buy (“you simply can’t brave the upper class world looking like _that_. And to think I once thought you were posh man”). He smiles at the memory. He always sounded like such a public school boy—he’d taught himself, because his family sounded so- so middle class. He’d wanted to sound smart and, well.

Douglas is recounting his latest heist, smuggling wine this time. He knows Martin doesn’t approve, and that’s why he’s talking about it in a low, sultry roll that never fails to make Martin’s toes curl.

“How did you get Hercules to do it with you? He’s- he wouldn’t-” Martin doesn’t really know Hercules, but he’s very nice. With a voice as bad as Douglas’. His boyfriends eyes glitter with some leftover jealousy (Martin regrets ever mentioning having a thing for Herc’s voice). 

“He used to help me with my loads. Wouldn’t lift a damn finger, but he wouldn’t mention anything. That is, until the day there he brought a woman with him, and didn’t warn me they were coming—apparently he hadn't realized who she was. Just as I was moving in at our usual hour, he and the owner of the aircraft came inside. She noted something was suspicious and,” Douglas shrugs.

“He- he betrayed you?” 

Douglas snorts. “Heavens, no. I was giving him a good cut. No, he’d no idea, but he wasn’t about to let his job go. He admonished me like the good little pilot he is and here we are.” Douglas strokes Martin’s knuckles absently, face somewhat stormy. _Maybe that’s why_ , Martin reasons, _they hate each other a bit._

Things get rather...heated when its just the two of them and not in a good way. It always takes Douglas longer to unwind on those days.

“But you’re here now, right? With- with me. Not that I’m glad you got kicked out, o-or anything but. I’m glad. For me, having you.” A blush works its way up his neck and Douglas’ bell on his wrist jingles as he moves. He’s a lot less nervous usually, but tonight he’s going to do something he’d never thought would happen. He’s going to give away his bell. For good. 

He’s so nervous he almost spills his drink, sloshing half of it on his plate. “Oh— shit,” he hisses, lip trembling. _Please don’t let anything else go wrong, please._

Douglas indulges him, chuckling over his mess. “Relax. I thought you liked it here. Last time we came you almost got sick over the sheer volume of cheesecake you consumed. You’ve barely eaten anything.” Douglas points to his now wet plate of food and frowns, then softens the gesture. “I know dinner with someone such as myself _can_ be intimidating, but _sir_ mustn't fear! You’ve proven yourself—”

“Oh, sod off.” Martin relaxes marginally, warmth curling in his breast. This is all right. He can feel it; Douglas is the one. His cheeks are warm. Martin bites his lip, eager to get it over with. “Douglas. Would you- um. I have something to give you.” He squirms, bringing his hands together under the table.

“A gift from _sir_? So that’s what you were hiding in your pockets earlier. And here I thought you were happy to see me.” Martin feels himself grin, remembering the quickie on the way. 

“Shush.” Suddenly he’s less nervous. Douglas does that, somehow. He smiles warmly, that teasing glint not quite gone, and Martin steels himself. He slips off his bell, momentarily shocked at the feeling- but not completely. He’d practiced taking it off at home. The first time he’d removed it, his wrist had felt so empty he didn’t know what to do with himself. It was a week before he could take it off and not start hyperventilating. He’s sure now that it will be fine. It will be safe with Douglas.

“Douglas, I- you know that I- ” he can’t come out and say it. He knows it must be obvious to Douglas, and he expects _he_ must feel that way surely, but the words get stuck in his throat. “I’ll just- hold on a second.” He’ll say _that_ later. 

Standing up, Martin holds the bell behind him, the sharp jingle making his heart stutter. He moves towards Douglas around the table and makes to move his hand, but he bumps into a server who he doesn't see. They collide harshly; luckily, he is experienced and manages no food spills, but the shock makes Martin's shaking hands lose their grip and the bell tumbles, sharp sound making his heart quiver. “No!” He spins around and looks at the floor frantically, but a table just cleared. People are walking around him, ignorant of his panic and obscuring his vision. It could be _anywhere_ by now.

“Excuse me! Can you- can you not- please.” He’s frantic, bending down, searching the carpeted floor desperately. Come on, come on. No, God, not now! 

Martin lifts the cloth to look under their table when strong arms pull him up.

“What in god's name is going on? Martin, what are you doing?” Douglas’ bell rings; he doesn’t seem to notice Martin’s is gone. Gone. _Fuck._

“I- I- ” he can’t say it. It’s a surprise. He breaks free of his grip and darts around, looking, eyes flickering wildly about. “I dropped my- my watch.” He doesn’t wear a watch. Martin can feel Douglas’ eyes, but he must looked that panicked, because he sighs and starts scanning the floor, less frantic that his captain. He must find it, he just has to.

Fifteen minutes later and Martin is kneeling by a young couple’s table, a miserable sort of fear taking hold. Douglas does not look happy. 

“Why did we just waste this long looking for a watch that doesn’t exist? Have you become The Finder?" He's frowning. "Come off the floor.” 

Tears rise in Martin’s eyes. No, no, god no. He’s lost it. He’s _lost_ — 

Martin touches something cold and round. His heart jumps and he gropes around, fingers closing around a woman’s heel. “Hey!” she yelps, but he moves his hand until— yes! 

“Yes!” he squeaks, yanking up only to slam his head against their table. 

“Ow! Ow, f—” he holds his tongue, head smarting as the pain blossoms. Douglas pulls him up and helps him move to their table. Once they are away from the couple glaring at them, Douglas frowns, holding Martin by the shoulders. 

“What the hell was—” Martin isn’t sure why he stops, not at first. Then he follows Douglas’ gaze to the bell cradled on his palm. Off of his wrist. Douglas looks confused, expressions flitting across his face. Martin interrupts before he can say anything. 

“I- this-” How should he explain it? He does the only thing he can think of doing. He crushes their mouths together, pulling Douglas’ hands against his own. He threads their fingers together, feeling the silver crushed between their palms. It’s ring is muffled when Douglas stumbles back. 

Shocked, Douglas makes to pull back, but Martin persists, using his free hand—the one adorned by Douglas bell—to hold his head there. “Please,” he breathes against his lips. He needs to do this. He needs this moment to let everything he means, all his intentions, made known. He doesn’t feel like he’ll be able to speak. Martin caresses Douglas’ face, thumb brushing across his cheek as they kiss, maybe a bit too passionately. Martin is the one to eventually pull away, and he pushes the bell into Douglas’ hands, cheeks beginning to burn at the implication. He just can't _say_ these things.

“Martin...” Douglas knows how important it is to him. “Are you sure?” Martin glances up to see Douglas staring at him in shock, eyes looking a bit wet. He feels such a rush of warmth for the man, that there’s no doubt—it’s all been stolen by Douglas, just like everything else. He smiles.

“Yes.” Martin takes the bell, listens to the sharp tinkle, and wraps it around Douglas’ wrist. His hands are shaking, but he’s not afraid. If anything, it makes him happy; incredibly happy. He touches his own bell and grins at his lover, giddiness making him almost dizzy. It’s weird—it will never stop being weird—but he feels happy. 

Douglas’ eyes soften and he touches Martin’s cheek, pulling him in for a softer, gentler kiss. Aware of the audience around them, Douglas doesn’t do it for long. “God, the sight of you. I can’t believe, for me—” he stops to kiss Martin’s lips, entangling their hands adorned with each other’s bell. Martin melts, heart clenching with a good kind of pain. He can hear their bells ringing together, and he smiles.


End file.
